


From A Dead Man's Hands

by wherewolf



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Gen, takes place during Book XIII: Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 04:29:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16468751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wherewolf/pseuds/wherewolf
Summary: Julian gets lost on the way to the Hanged Man’s realm.





	From A Dead Man's Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [infernal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/infernal/gifts).



Julian woke up in incredible pain and with a comforting hand on his forehead. Being more used to the former than the latter, he dwelled on them in order. His whole body hurt in nauseating waves that ebbed and flowed, giving him seconds to breathe freely before the next wave hit and made him gasp. His neck hurt constantly, one unceasing throb all the way through that made him think _paralysis_ in sheer terror before he gingerly moved and found he had no trouble doing so. 

With that categorized, he turned to the hand, which had retreated when he moved. “You’re awake!” its owner said, and Julian finally opened his eyes to see the Apprentice. 

“I am,” Julian croaked, and then cleared his throat. “And what a lovely sight to wake up to.” He grinned, but his throat still felt raw – not like he’d been yelling, but like it was bruised. He touched it gingerly. It hurt, but no more than everything else. 

The Apprentice caught the motion, brow furrowing adorably. “Are you hurt?” they asked.

“No,” he said. There was no point in worrying them. He made himself sit up without wincing. “Where are we?” He didn’t recognize their surroundings. It almost looked like some kind of marsh, though in the gloomy darkness the long grasses that surrounded them were so washed-out that they looked grey. The air was heavy with a warm, thick fog that obscured any potential landmark, until all he could see was the faint suggestion of long grass, like the marsh went on forever. 

“I have no idea,” the Apprentice said. “I just woke up myself. I was worried about you.” 

“Well, as you can see, I’m fine!” Julian said, flinging his arms out in a motion that every muscle in his arms, neck, and back immediately protested. Even with his clothes soaked through with marsh mud, he felt fever-hot. Or maybe the marsh was making it worse; the water somehow felt warm even against his overheated skin. 

He stood up quickly. “Maybe we should just pick a direction and start walking,” he suggested. “We’re bound to find a landmark eventually.”

“All right,” the Apprentice said, still eyeing him worriedly, but didn’t move. 

“After you, my dear,” Julian said, and finally the Apprentice stood. As they did, something buzzed beneath their cloak, but the Apprentice said nothing, just turned right and started walking. 

Julian followed close behind, looking around. The sky above was a bleak grey that blended interminably with the fog and the grasses until it was impossible to see the horizon. It was hard enough to see three feat ahead; even sticking close to the Apprentice’s heels, they seemed vague around the edges somehow. Maybe it was that strange cloak they were wearing. Julian didn’t think he’d ever seen it before, but it was the exact shade of grey as everything else, and it made the Apprentice seem liable to blend into the fog and disappear entirely at any moment.

“I’m thirsty,” the Apprentice said abruptly. “Are you thirsty, Julian?”

“I – yes, I am,” Julian said. And he was, suddenly. His poor, bruised throat cried out desperately for some ice, or any water, really. 

The Apprentice nodded and stooped down to drink.

“Wait!” Julian cried out, alarmed. “Don’t drink that – you don’t know what kind of diseases might be in it!” The water certainly didn’t look clean, muddy and grey. There could be a corpse or ten hidden down there and they’d never know. 

“It’s fine,” the Apprentice said, and drank long and deep from their cupped hands. After, they offered their hands to Julian, water slowly trickling out of them and down their wrists. “Here, try some and see.” 

Anything would look more appetizing in their hands, but there wasn’t much they could do to make the water look better. It swirled slowly between their cupped palms, filmy and filthy, and Julian looked away. 

“Try it,” the Apprentice said again. 

“Maybe when I’m thirstier.” 

The Apprentice stared for a moment, then finally dropped their hands. 

They kept walking. 

Their boots squelched again and again through the water and the mud, and the long grasses brushed endlessly against Julian’s knuckles. Every few minutes, or so it felt, a huge fly or a mosquito with a belly full to bursting of blood crossed his vision and he raised a hand to swat them away. He could hear the buzzing of insects somewhere close by constantly, though, whether he saw them or not. His body still hurt all over. Every step seemed to make it worse, sending a new wave of pain vibrating up his bones. 

And he was so, so thirsty. 

The Apprentice stopped to drink again. Julian licked his dry lips with his equally dry tongue and tried to think of all the diseases he’d seen in water before in his journeys outside Vesuvia. Or even within Vesuvia. He remembered the brook he and his sister used to play near, and how he’d had to pluck her out of the water and carry her home on his shoulders when he’d noticed the water turning cloudy and she’d refused to get out herself. 

His sister had always been headstrong. It was a family trait. If anything, she was even moreso now, little – 

He couldn’t remember her name. 

The Apprentice offered him water out of their hands again. “Please take some, Julian,” they said. “I don’t want you collapsing out here.” 

Julian stared at them and swallowed hard. His spit was so thick in his mouth that he could hardly swallow around it. “For you, anything,” he said. “Just one question first.” 

“Of course.”

“What’s your name?”

The Apprentice frowned at him. “You know my name, Julian,” they said. “Did you hit your head recently? Let me check.” 

Julian took a step back. “That’s the thing,” he said. “I can’t remember if I hit my head. I can’t remember your name, or anyone’s name except my own. Do you know who you are?” 

“I – ” the Apprentice faltered. “I’m not sure.” 

That might have worked if they’d started with that game, but Julian could see through a change in the midst of play. “But you know who I am,” he said. “Could you pull back your hood?” 

They just looked at him wordlessly. It was so hard to see their face through the fog, especially with their hood up, obscuring the line of their cheek and chin. They could be anyone. Julian didn’t know why he’d assumed they were the Apprentice at all. 

Finally, it said, “this would be so much easier if you’d just drink the water.” 

Julian turned and ran. 

He didn’t run quickly. His clothes were still soaked through with mud, which didn’t seem to be drying at all, and every bit of him throbbed in unison. But he ran as far as he could before he had to stumble to a stop, and the thing that he had thought was the Apprentice was in front of him again.

“You can run forever, but you will always be here,” it said, extending its cupped hands to Julian again. 

Julian shook his head, panting. His lungs felt like they were on fire. Every part of him felt like it was on fire. It was so hot here, and the air was so wet, and every breath seemed to suck the water out of his body. “Where am I?” He croaked.

“Nowhere,” it said. 

The water swirled sickly between its hands. 

Something landed on Julian’s ear. He was too tired to shake it away before he felt it bite. 

Blood was mostly water. He had so little of it left.

“How did I get here?” Julian asked.

The thing stared at him and didn’t answer. The water kept dripping from its hands and down into the marsh below. Every drop made a noise that echoed in Julian’s rough throat. 

The mosquito flew away, but the buzzing remained. The air was so heavy. It pressed down wetly on him from all directions. 

His body ached. His neck ached. He was so, so thirsty. 

He tried to say something, but his voice failed. There was nothing left in him. 

The thing offered its hands again, and Julian bowed his neck like he had before the hangman. His lips touched its fingers, and – 

He remembered. Right before the water touched his lips, he said, “I was hanged.” 

The thing howled. Everything howled; a wind whipped up all around him, blessedly cool and dry, and so strong he didn’t know how it didn’t pick him up and carry him away. It ripped the grasses from their roots, ripped the water into the air, and there was nothing underneath. Julian fell, and fell, and fell – 

And he landed in a clearing lit up in red. On all sides there was thick fog, but inside there was just him and the Hanged Man, staring down at him impassively. "I see you're here at last," he said.


End file.
